


Until the Morning

by lha



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Sickfic, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 13:04:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10537020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lha/pseuds/lha
Summary: Sometimes it's all you can do to make it to the morning.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Again, this is something I shared on LJ way back in the distant depths of time. Hope you enjoy!

James closed his eyes and enjoyed the acoustic of the church, the notes ringing round the old stonework before returning back to them.  They were rehearsing a new set so the pews were empty and with so little to deaden the sound the echo was more pronounced than usual.  It worked well for their style of music however and while he had the opportunity, his guitar resting beside him un-played, he revelled in it.  As the others reached their last rallentando, he straightened his shoulders breathing deeply and feeling the beat that Simai was setting on his djembe, listening as everything else faded away.  The plainsong that this piece was based on was something that John had come across somewhere and had been playing with for months.  There had been several incarnations so far but this was by far James’ favourite, partly because there was more of the traditional liturgical element than John’s work often had, even if he was the one who had to sing it.

The Latin flowed easily over his tongue and he found it strangely comforting to hear his own baritone following the path of the chant; the measure, always flexible, designed to match the jazz based version that his bandmates were playing.  He rarely sang anymore; he’d depped occasionally for larger works when he’d been in Cambridge and then in the seminary it had been part of the job so to speak.  Now though, it was like a long forgotten pleasure, bringing him closer to his God than he had felt in a long time.  When he finished and there was that moment of utter still before any of them moved or spoke, he felt at peace and he wasn’t even sure why. 

The silence didn’t last long, but James didn’t mourn the loss when he turned to see the look on John’s face.

“James, James, James,” Caro said, laying her double bass down on the floor, “I don’t know why you left the seminary but it certainly wasn’t because you couldn’t carry a tune.” 

“Amen to that,” Simai agreed, clambering over his assorted drums, reaching out to grip his hand in both of his and shaking it. 

“Easy there, Simai, “ John chided, “you’ll break his carefully cultivated English reserve.”

“You are all too reserved!” the Tanzanian said throwing his hand in the air.  James cleared his throat trying to turn the conversation away from himself.

“It’s sounding good.  I think you’ve got that one down,” he said, reaching down to pick up his guitar, hoping that they’d all calm back down and they could get back on.  He was just fishing out a plectrum from the pocket of his jeans when his phone, resting in his open case, started to ring.   Picking it up he was surprised to find it was the Chief Super and not dispatch or Lewis ringing.  

“Hathaway.”

 _“James, it’s Jean Innocent,”_ she paused just long enough for him to process that this wasn’t right, something was very wrong and suddenly he knew exactly what she was going to tell him.

“Ma’am?”  he prompted, not wanting to know but somehow not being able to wait.

  
_“I… I’m afraid that I have some bad news - Robbie had a heart attack this morning.  Laura Hobson was with him at the time though and she got him to the hospital straight away.  He seems to be stable for the time being - obviously they‘ll need to run tests and such but he‘s in good hands for the time being.”_ Not dead then - that was good but the news didn’t seem to thaw the ice that had crept through his veins.  His thoughts seemed to have been frozen as well though, the only thing he could seem to focus on was the fact that he had known that Lewis was going to be with Hobson this morning, that she was providing him with lunch in exchange for his manly assistance in helping her purchase a new greenhouse. _”James?”_ Innocent asked, making him realise that he’d obviously been silent for too long.

“Sorry, Ma’am.  Have you… do you know if they’ve managed to get in touch with his children?”  

_“Lynn’s on her way down, she’s going to call Mark.”_

“Right, that’s good,” he said not knowing what else to add. 

_“Well he’s in the Radcliffe and they’re going to admit him, presumably to a cardiac ward but I’m sure you’ll be able to find out where.”_

“Of course.  Thank you for letting me know.”  She said goodbye and he hung-up, letting his arm fall down to rest over his guitar, his phone cradled loosely in his palm. 

“James?” Francois asked, and when James glanced up he was met by the quiet focus of the other man’s gaze.

“Work,” he said standing, suddenly overwhelmed by the need to do something.  Anything.  To go somewhere, somewhere that wasn’t here.

“They work you too hard,” Simai said with affectionate disapproval, “and they do not feed you well enough.” 

“I’m not sure that the police are technically responsible for providing…” Cora replied but James drifted away from the conversation, hoping that the banter would continue long enough to allow him to collect up his things and make his escape. 

Once he’d reached the street though, he didn’t know what to do with himself.   Unlocking the car, he opened the boot and placed his guitar out of the way then lit a cigarette, more out of habit than anything else.   He tried to pull himself together, to focus on the practical but the problem was there was really nothing practical that he could do.  Laura Hobson would be with Lewis in the hospital, his children had been informed, Innocent knew what was going on, all that was left really was to wait. 

He smoked quickly, taking deep drags and trying to ignore the way his hands were shaking.  Instead of steadying his nerves however, it was as though the nicotine had restarted the sluggish blood flow to his brain.  Thoughts were chasing each other around his head at the rate of knots; he knew the were contradictory and increasingly outlandish but he couldn’t seem to corral them into anything approximating logical order.  Amid the tempest however there was the overwhelming concept that he couldn’t escape; the thought of life without Robbie Lewis was like a gaping chasm ready to swallow anything and everything around it.  It was like a fierce pain that brought tears to his eyes and left him short of breath.  He wasn’t dead though, and that was what he needed to focus on just now and if the other man had to retire then that was alright, James had known that day would come sooner or later, he had a plan for that.  But it was too early to start thinking like that, he knew what the statistics were like, something could quite easily happen and he might… Turning from where he was leaning back on the car, he propped his elbows on the roof and leant down till his forehead rested on the cool metal.

  
“Please,” he barely breathed, the most plaintive of prayers.  

A few minutes later, or maybe longer he couldn’t be sure, he managed to regain a little of the detached calm from earlier and quite calmly sat himself in the driver’s seat and started the engine.  When he reached the front door to his flat however, he had a sudden realisation that he had no recollection of how he had gotten there.  He knew he hadn’t been in a fit state to drive, but this complete blank only added to the previously tamped down panic.  It took him several attempts to manage to get the key in the lock and the door open and as soon as he succeeded, he rushed in, almost slamming the door closed as though he could shut out the nightmarish thoughts that plagued him. He stood there for a moment, simply focusing on the necessary in and out of breathing before almost lurching across to the kitchen, searching desperately for a bottle he knew was there.  

The first whiskey he drank in one, relishing the burn as it hit his oesophagus.  The second he drank on his way to the sofa, dumping the bottle on the coffee table before collapsing into the cushions.  The third he poured more generously than the first two but was still cradled against his chest when his phone lit up, bring an eerie glow to the encroaching darkness. 

It took a moment for him to process that the intrusive noise was his phone and longer still to galvanise his body to action.  He unfolded his limbs from where they had been pulled as close as possible to his body, the stiffness in his muscles giving him some idea that he had been in that position for some time.  Picking up the phone he saw Laura Hobson’s name on the screen and he paused before answering, the myriad of scenarios and possibilities that had been consuming his thoughts crashing down on him in one paralysing moment.

“Hello,” he said having eventually accepted the call. 

 _“James?  It’s Laura,”_ she sounded tired.

“Hi,”

 _“I thought you might like an update,”_ she paused again but James couldn’t think what he was supposed to say.  _“Innocent did let you know?”_

“Yes, she uh, she called earlier, about two I think,” he cleared his throat and looked at his watch, only to be distracted by the fact that it was now after seven.  He felt groggy and disconcerted. 

_“Well, they’ve found him a bed on the Cardiology Ward in the Heart Centre, and they’ll keep him in until at least Monday.  The angiogram didn’t highlight anything too disturbing, his bloods are pretty good and his rhythm’s been relatively steady after the first cardiac incident so it looks like it was pretty minor as MI’s go. They’ll need to run more tests, and this will mean a change in lifestyle, less beer and more exercise would be a good start, but it looks like he’ll be fine.”_

“Good, that’s good,” he said as the information sank in.

_“James, are you alright?”_

“Yes, sorry, yes,” he replied trying to pull his thoughts together,

 _“Ok,”_ she continued, though he could hear the hesitancy in her tone, _“well Lynn’s with him now and he was asleep when I left, but the visiting hours are nine till nine.”_

“Right, thank you for letting me know.” 

 _“James,”_ she began again, with something akin to a sigh, _“there are no promises but he really is going to be ok in all likelihood.  He asked me to make sure I spoke to you.”_

“I understand.  I appreciate your calling, it’s… it’s good to know.” 

_“Well you know my number, call me if you… well if there’s anything you need.”_

“Thank you,” he replied not really knowing how to respond, “I um… I’m glad you were there.”

 _“I am too,”_ she said quietly.

“Well then, goodnight,”

“ _Night, James.”_

When he had hung up, he sat there again for a moment, simply letting the warmth seep back into his veins.  He couldn’t dismiss the panic that had been gnawing at him entirely, but now the flicker of hope had been validated, he suddenly seemed galvanised into action.   Standing, he collected up the whiskey bottle and his still full glass, and made his way back to the kitchen.  He abandoned them on the counter top, turning on the kettle and reaching instead for his cafétiere.  While he waited for the water to boil, he sought out his cigarettes and an ashtray and lent against the counter, smoking with unusual concentration.

If Lewis was going to survive, then James could afford to think about more than what needed to be done in the immediate now.  Lynn would see that he had everything he needed in hospital, would probably stay in the flat with him when he got home but if so many of his habits were going to have to change, then maybe James could be of assistance.  The kettle reached boiling point and pouring the water over the coffee grinds, he slotted the lid into place and finished his cigarette before pushing down the plunger.  Picking up the cafétiere and a mug in one hand and balancing the milk, sugar bowl and cigarettes in his other and headed back to the living room in search of his laptop.

Two hours later, he had read everything he could find on the Oxford University Hospital Trust website on the topic of rehabilitation after myocardial infarctions, and had emptied the coffee pot and what was left in his cigarette packet.  He had also formed a master list, things that would have to change or that Lewis would be unable to do during the early stages of recovery.  Most of it was fairly basic really, not necessarily easy, but do-able and there were one or two areas that he knew he could help with.  Picking up the pad at his side, he circled two of the headings.  Smoking was simple enough; though Lewis didn’t smoke himself, James was more than aware that he had been polluting his boss’s air regularly for the last five years.  Well he would try and quit again, and even if he failed there would be no more lighting up when they walked down the road, or stood outside a crime scene or were sitting outside a pub.  Maybe he could try patches for when he was at work at least, assuming Lewis came back, maybe he would even if he didn’t. 

Dragging his thoughts back to the sheet in front of him, determined that he wouldn’t be caught up in ‘what ifs’ again, he chewed the edge of his thumbnail and considered what he had written.  Diet, was again fairly self-explanatory; he had teased his inspector for years about living on those vile ready meals, but beyond throwing in an extra vegetable when he cooked for him though, he had done nothing to actually help.  He knew that the problem was one of both time and experience; Lewis lived a hectic lifestyle, or at least he had done up until now, and James knew that he’d never really learnt how to cook beyond the very basics. It was something that James enjoyed though, and it was something practical that he could do.  Turning over a new page, he started to write a shopping list, searching online for inspiration and advice as he went.

It was after midnight when he stopped, and even then, it was only because he couldn’t focus on either the screen or his own writing.  He went through the motions of getting ready for bed but when he lay there in the dark, he found himself unable or unwilling to relax. As soon as he closed his eyes, tried to quiet his mind, the looming spectre reappeared.  Laura Hobson had said it herself, there were no promises.  What if something happened during the night, what if the doctors had missed something?  Heaven knew they were human, just like police officers, and mistakes did happen.  What happened if the next call he got told him… 

Sleep did not come easily that night and when it did arrive it was full of restless shadows both old and new. 

James was at the supermarket before seven the next morning, his list carefully stashed in the front pocket of his oldest and most comfortable CUBC hoodie.  He hadn’t even bothered trying to put his lenses in, his eyes had been protesting as soon as they were open and he knew when it was a hopeless battle.  He took his time, cocooned from the rest of the world by his earphones and the Bruckner Motets, checking ingredients, thinking about what Lewis would and would not be willing to try, making sure that everything was as fresh as possible and contemplating how well the end product would freeze.  When he passed the end of the toiletries aisle, he wandered down contemplating nicotine gum, patches and inhalers.  He picked up a selection and threw them into the trolley before heading in the direction of home wares.

As a general rule, unless it was a special occasion, James preferred the ‘see what’s in the fridge’ style of cooking, a dash of this and a pinch of that to taste.  Today though, he measured everything carefully, taking a note of how much he used for later.  He tasted everything as he went along, re-thought some of the recipes that he’d found, knowing that low salt, low saturated fat and low sugar didn’t have to be entirely unpleasant.  By the time his own stomach reminded him that he needed more than caffeine and nicotine to survive he had managed to produce seven or eight different options, all of which he felt ought to be edible.  

He ate cheese on toast and drank a pint of water while he waited for things to cool and then started to dish up into single portion containers.  He weighed each one and did a quick calculation before labelling them up with a description of the dish, what it could be served with, how much salt, sugar and saturated fat it contained, whether it was high in omega 3 and how many portions of vegetables it could account for.  After a moment’s thought, he added the date at the bottom of the sticker knowing that most of them would need to go in the freezer. 

The washing-up done, he started to feel the nervous energy building again to the point where he couldn’t seem to sit still or decide what he wanted to do next.  He needed to go round to Lewis’ flat but he didn’t want to disturb Lynn if she was staying there, but presumably she’d be at the hospital by now.  Hanging up the dishtowel, he went to the bedroom and pulling off his jeans, changed into his rowing shorts.  He hunted out a pair of trackies for over the top and slipped on his trainers.  Rowing and glasses did not mix however, but after some eye drops and a little effort he did manage to get his lenses in.  First things first though, he’d drop into his inspector’s flat and store the food away.

He paused on the other man’s doorstep, wondering if he should ring the bell just in case Lynn or someone else was here, but in the end decided not to tempt fate.  Pulling out his key and unlocking the door, he pushed it open gently, half expecting someone to appear and question his motives.  When that didn’t happen, he headed straight to the kitchen, re-usable shopping bags carefully held in each hand.  It was plain to see that Robbie had intended on being back in his flat shortly when he had last left; there were dishes pilled next to the sink, suit jackets draped over chairs and the milk was sitting on the counter top.  The normality of it caught James for second and that dark chasm seemed to be pulling him in, until with conscious effort he turned his attention to the fridge. 

It wasn’t that anything in the flat was disgustingly unclean, but it certainly wasn’t pristine.  James took pleasure in the simple act of emptying the fridge of contents that were past their best, replacing them with Benecol and fruit, orange juice and bottles of water.  Working on the principle that even if her father wasn’t home, Lynn would need to eat, he left a container of tomato based fish dish and a chicken and potato casserole on one of the shelves, before carefully stacking the other portions in the freezer.  He contemplated the kitchen surfaces for only a moment or two before he rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

Lynn’s bags were in the spare room, not much more than a box room really, but he was glad to see that she was at least staying there.  It didn’t take him long to run a cloth over the bathroom, arguing that his boss wouldn’t be fit to do it for a while and that his daughter would no doubt have better things to think about.  The rest was mostly just picking things up and putting them back in the right place. He carried work shoes and suit jackets into the master bedroom, and seeing the unmade bed went in search of the linen cupboard.   Having changed the sheets, he bundled the old ones up with the rest of the of the laundry and took them with him when he left. 

James reached the riverside and his club’s boat house, just as a group of men were hoisting their skin out of the water.  He raised his hand in greeting, heading straight for the single sculls and carefully removing one from the rack.  Waiting for the others to clear the dock he sat the scull down and returned to the house to collect his oars and seat, signing himself out on the water.  Once he was settled, he plugged his earphones back in, picking his usual rowing mix and pushed away into the river proper.  It had been too long since he had last been out and he knew quickly that he was going to feel it in his muscles tomorrow.  The pain was good though and he focused on slow steady pulls, using his length to his advantage in a way that it had not always been possible to in an eight.

He went further than was probably sensible, and when he pulled back up next to the dock, he could see Neil, the club coach, had been looking out for him.

“I was just about to send out the search parties,” the older man said lightly, crouching down to steady the scull for him.  “You’re still pulling to the right when you’re tired.  You were perfect on the way out.”

“I shall endeavour to do better,” James replied, climbing out and finding his legs were not entirely steady, “thanks,” he added as they hoisted the skin out of the water together.  

“No problem, you do know you’re welcome at any of the training sessions?  Even if you don’t want to compete I could use you as a great example,”

“I don’t think a Cambridge man’s really what you’re looking for is it?”

“We are not a University club,” Neil pointed out, “well as much as is possible in this place.” 

“Indeed.  I’ve got quite a lot on at the moment but I’ll see.  Are you still on the water Tuesday mornings?”

“Early doors.  Are you alright?”  he asked as they slid the scull back on to the rack.  James realised he was grimacing,

“Yeah, just tired.  Overshot it a bit this afternoon I think.”

“If you say so,” the other man said, fishing out a sports drink from his own bag and tossing it to him. 

“Thanks,” he murmured again, struck by how natural this all was and how wrong that somehow felt. 

“It’ll do more good if you actually drink it before I have to put you in the recovery position.”  James blinked and looked up at him.  That line was pure Lewis and suddenly the possibility that he might never hear the northerner chide him again was more than he could bare.  “Hey, easy there,” Neil took hold of his elbow and guided him onto a bench.  He took the bottle back out of his hands and peeled off the seal, popped the cap and handed it back.  James drank automatically, and they sat there in silence for several minutes. 

“Sorry,”

“Let me guess,” Neil said with an appraising look, “not enough sleep and no lunch.” 

“I had lunch,” James said, naturally defensive even if it was a slight stretch of the truth, “but yes, I probably shouldn’t have gone out.”

“I think better on the water too,” Neil said a little cryptically, “come on, finish that up and then you can help me lock up.”  James did what he was told, quite happily submitting to someone else’s authority.  Once they had battened down the hatches, they went their separate ways with the kind of noncommittal words men often exchange and James’ promising that he’d try and join them soon. 

He spent an unreasonably long time in the shower when he got home, trying to drown his thoughts as well as pummel the muscles in his shoulders into submission.  Once he realised that it had worked as well as it was going to though, he dried off and dressed in cotton pyjama bottoms and his favourite hoodie again.  Wandering through to the kitchen, he started water boiling for pasta, but despite the ridiculous grocery bill he had wracked up earlier and all the cooking he had done, he was not faced with a surplus of choices when he opened the fridge.  In the end, he defrosted some sauce from the freezer and threw in a handful of already wilting spinach.  James mostly picked at his dinner while he didn’t watch the news but discover he had eaten more than he thought when he roused himself to take his dishes through.  Placing his dirty crockery in the sink, he loaded the washing machine with some of the laundry he had picked up earlier and set it working. 

Searching for something else to keep him occupied, he was just contemplating doing some research on level walking routes that started and ended at Lewis’ flat, when his phone rang and his blood once more turned to ice.  It was an unknown mobile number this time and his hand hovered over the green phone symbol for longer than was strictly necessary before he hit it. 

“Hathaway,” he said, clearing his throat. 

 _“James,”_ an unfamiliar female voice declared enthusiastically, _“you are quite possibly my favourite person in the world right about now.”_

“I’m sorry?” he asked, before his brain caught up with mouth. 

_“Oh, no - listen to me.  I’m Lynn, Robbie’s daughter, and I’ve just had the strangest conversation with Laura Hobson.”_

“Really?”

_“Yeah well, I came back from the hospital this evening to find that someone has been working all sorts of magic on Dad’s place in my absence.  I assumed it was the good doctor but she informed me that it was likely you.”_

“Guilty as charged.” 

_“Well, I just wanted to say thank you.  You are an utter lifesaver, I can’t think of the last time I had something as good as that chicken.”_

“It’s nothing really,” he mumbled, wishing suddenly that he hadn’t left anything out or the post-it on the fridge listing what was in the freezer. 

 _“It certainly is not nothing,”_ she said firmly, _“and I know that Dad’ll appreciate it just as much.”_

“How…” he began, knowing that he should ask, but she answered before had to force out any more.

 _“He’s doing pretty well,”_ she said, softening a little.  _“I think it’s scared him more than anything.  They’re saying that the damage seems to be pretty limited and as long as he’s careful, manages his blood pressure and cholesterol then he should recover fully comparatively quickly.”_

“Good.  That’s really good,” James breathed. 

_“He’s been asking for you, you know.  Had me phone Laura to make sure she’d called you yesterday…”_

“Devolved responsibility exists solely for paperwork,” he replied, leaning his head back on the edge of the sofa. 

_“Dad’s just a softie really, and he thinks the world of you.  I think I can see why.”_

“Don’t believe the propaganda, certainly not when it comes from someone drugged to their eyeballs.” 

 _“You’re terribly dry for an almost-priest,”_ she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. 

“The ‘almost’ is key,” he replied automatically and Lynn snorted in response. 

 _“Well, in any case, I just wanted to say thank you, so much.  I worry you know, I did even before this.  He’s never been particularly good at looking after himself, that was always Mum’s job.”_ James didn’t know what to say to this, he allowed the silence to lapse as the unspoken assertion that if someone was caring for him that this wouldn’t have happened, and instead of the gnawing fear, the guilt took pride of place.  _“Anyway, I’m sure he’d love to see you,”_

“I’m not sure… I… We’re meeting or at least I’m meeting with the CPS tomorrow, I’m not sure when I’ll get done.” 

_“Well, whenever you get the chance.  He’s in the cardiology ward in the Heart Centre.  Bit of a nightmare to find but the visiting hours are pretty good.”_

“I’ll do my best,” he said, trying to assuage his mortification and apprehension simultaneously. 

 _“You do that,”_ she said lightly, _“and thank you again.  I’m looking forward to meeting you before I have to head back up north.”_

“Yeah, that would be good.”  He drifted off as she said her good bye, finding himself sitting with the dead phone next to his ear. 

It had been a strange sort of revelation, that struck him as they had talked; the overwhelming realisation that he didn’t want to, couldn’t, go to the hospital.  Part of him knew that he had been avoiding the possibility but he had been able to justify it up until now, at least to himself.  Now he had to admit that he was simply overwhelmed by a primal fear, fuelled by guilt and the deep-rooted irrational belief that if he didn’t see it, then it wasn’t true.  Suddenly, James wanted desperately to cry. 

He didn’t though, or couldn’t.  Instead, he opened a bottle of red wine and drank most of it far too quickly.  It was only when he was sitting on the floor, smoking cigarettes he’d found stashed away in a kitchen drawer, and one of the few CDs that he and Lewis could ever agree on, playing just the nearside of unsociably loud that he allowed the first tear to fall. 

James woke up with a jerk, red wine splashing from his glass and his heart hammering.  Trying to control his breathing he glanced around in the darkness trying to find the cause of his overwhelming anxiety until, with wakefulness came understanding.  There was no grace when he stood and he had to close his eyes for a minute, fearing that he was about to lose his stomach contents.  He won the battle though and stumbled in the direction of his bedroom.  Half way there, he remembered about the laundry in the machine and detoured to the hall cupboard to collect and airing rack.  There was a very small and slightly less drunk part of him that realised how ridiculous he must have looked, but he did eventually manage to get the clean clothes and sheets draped out to dry. 

The act had seemed to help return his sobriety whether for better and worse and when he was done he didn’t know quite what to do with himself.  It was after midnight again now and he knew he should just go to bed, but with his stomach churning and the weight of his earlier revelation added to the fear that simply wouldn’t go, the last thing he wanted to do was to lay down in the dark.  Through force of habit he went to the bathroom, removed his lenses and started brushing his teeth but had to stop so that he could kneel and throw up what must have been all the wine that hadn’t been absorbed and most of what he’d eaten.  The act only added more shame to the tumult of his emotions and the desire to fall back into the pattern, to smoke some more, open another bottle and turn the stereo back on almost won.  In the end though, he turned to another form of comfort and knelt beside his bed whispering the words of repentance and seeking strength from the Father. 

James woke early again, but showered, dressed, forced himself to eat toast and headed into the station early.  They genuinely had quite a lot in the diary for today, and obviously now that his DI was not going to be available for the foreseeable future, he had more than enough to keep him busy.  He buried himself in re-reading the case notes, checking the evidence logs and that the statements were all present and correct as, despite his motivation, he hadn’t lied to Lynn, he did have to meet with the CPS today.  By the time eight o’clock came around, he was being interrupted regularly by people sticking their heads around the door to ask about the Inspector.

“Hathaway?” Innocent asked, standing in the open doorway. 

“Ma’am?” he replied, finishing the sentence before looking up. 

“Good grief, you look worse than Robbie,” she announced, her concerned frown readily discernible as she stepped further into the room, and shut the door behind her.  “Are you alright, James?”

“Fine Ma’am,” he replied, his face schooled into its best blank.  She looked at him, for longer than he was comfortable, and he had to stare just past her ear to maintain his unaffected air. 

“Well, if you’re sure.  I know that Lewis was meeting with CPS this morning,” she said slipping back into her business persona, “are you going to be alright to…”

“Swotting up now, Ma’am.”

“I could always get…”

“With all respect Ma’am, I know the case and I’m not sure that assigning another DI would help at this stage.”  She looked at him levelly again.

“Well, if you’re sure.  Let me know when you get done.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”  And with that she left.  James wasn’t sure whether he was reading too much into it or not, but no-one else set foot inside the room or even knocked on the door between Innocent leaving and him going to his meeting at eleven. 

Despite Innocent’s regular complaints about the two of them, James knew that he and Lewis made a good team and compared with many of their colleagues their paperwork and evidence logging was immaculate.  He was also lucky enough that he had and inspector who took him with him throughout the process and so when it came to discussing the details, he was comfortable answering all the questions the CPS had.  It was not a particularly complex file but even still it was after four by the time he got back to the station, and he had not long been back at his desk, pulling up the month end stats to keep him busy when there was a knock on the door and Laura Hobson stuck her head in. 

“Come on, I’ll buy you coffee.”  And with that she disappeared.  James sat there for a moment before realising that as the doctor was no longer there, he could hardly argue that he had work to do and somehow staying put and ignoring her felt much worse than offering up excuses, however lame.  So, trying not to think about what her motive might be, he stood and followed her out. 

He sat awkwardly at the canteen table that was indicated by the doctor, having been decisively beaten down when he had offered to pay for the coffee.

“I invited you didn’t I?” Hobson had said, before disappearing off into the queue.  He was focussed solely on his phone, answering some of the more straightforward emails, when she returned with a tray that had more than just two cups of coffee on it.  “You only get cake if you finish your soup first,” she said, with a mock serious tone. 

“I’ve had…” he began, about to try and lie his way out of the situation until he saw the doctor’s look turn serious.  “Thank you,” he murmured lifting the spoon.  James tried not to think about the quiet observation he was under as he carefully spooned soup out of the bowl.

“I went to the Heart Centre again this morning,” she said lightly once he had finished the soup and had reached for the coffee and cake.  He had to work at it but he was fairly sure he managed to maintain his detached air.  “Robbie was asking after you,” she paused before adding, “again.”  James hid behind his mug, stalling for time.  “They’re talking about releasing him tomorrow,” she added before he came up with anything approximating a plan and he had spoken before he could stop himself.

“Already?” he asked genuinely shocked that they were about to let him out of their care. 

“He’s been stable since Saturday afternoon, his tests haven’t thrown up anything that suggests he needs further intensive treatment or monitoring.” 

“But…” he began, the myriad of panicked thoughts which he had been so carefully ignoring since this morning, breaking free, “what if something happens?” 

“Well, they don’t think he’s going to have another heart attack in the immediate future,” she said calmly, “they’ve put him on some medication, he’s being advised on how to help lower some of his risk factors and some lifestyle changes that he’ll need to implement and he’ll have plenty of follow up checks, but James,” she paused until he felt like he really had no choice but to look at her, “with these changes he’ll probably be fine.  He might still outlive us both.” 

“But he might not.”  James countered automatically.

“And you might get run over tomorrow,” she replied a little sharply, not letting his gaze go.  “Look James, you’re an adult but you do need to understand, in the short term he needs to be careful and that includes trying to keep his stress levels as low as is possible and at the moment he’s increasingly worked up about the fact that you,” she paused again, “seem to be avoiding him.” 

He wanted to say that he wasn’t but suddenly he knew how obviously untrue that would be, he hung his head instead, pushing the majority of the cake around his plate. 

“Is there anything I can do?”  she asked after several minutes.  He shook his head briskly. 

“I…” he swallowed, re-wrapping his hands around his cooling mug, “I know that it’s not logical…” 

“Emotions often aren’t and fear is natural but James how would you feel if Robbie died tonight and you hadn’t seen him when you had the chance?”  His blood turned to ice again, his imagination running off at three hundred miles an hour and he struggled to form words.  “Look, I’m not going to march you in there, but I will tell you that the best medicine that I or anyone else could prescribe just now would be a visit from his sergeant.”  James nodded into his coffee cup.  “Lynn headed back up to Manchester this afternoon to see the baby and David but she’ll be back before he’s discharged.  I’m on call this evening so maybe you might like to go say hello.”  James nodded again not knowing what else to do.  After a few minutes, during which James thoroughly destroyed what was left of the cake, Laura stood and paused, resting her hand on his shoulder in an oddly comforting gesture before she departed. 

Pushing the plate away, James slid down in his chair and let his gaze drift out of the widow to his left.  It was as though what the doctor had said had caused some of his more amorphous concerns to solidify into a contradictory loop that he struggled to break.  Lewis was going to be ok, but if he died and James hadn’t been to visit when he had the opportunity then undoubtedly, he would regret it.  But could he bare to go knowing that it might be the last time he would see his inspector?  But it wouldn’t be the last time he would see him, because it was going to be ok.  He was going to live even if things had to change.  They must be fairly confident of that if Lynn was willing to go home for a bit, but then again he hadn’t accounted for the fact that she had a young child at home, a family, and it wasn’t as though she would be able to just abandon them.  Even when they released Lewis, he’d need some looking after and what if Lynn took him back up to Manchester with her?  What if he retired and stayed there.  But Laura had said that he would be able to work if he wanted to.  Would he want to though?  Or would he want to eliminate the potential risk factor of the stress, do everything he could to insure he had as long as possible with his granddaughter?

James mentally slapped himself, this was the worst kind of self-serving pity and he had no right to wallow in it.  He was not stupid and he had long grown out of any naivety he might have once had.  He had always known that Lewis would retire eventually, even before they had started touting the possibility of early retirement and voluntary redundancy, but he had a plan.  The plan was like a life raft that you didn’t want to think about too carefully in case it became clear that it might not hold your weight when the time came, but still, he had a plan and he supposed it would work just as well if Lewis were to die as retire.  But Lewis wasn’t about to die just yet.  Probably.

He had pushed his chair back and was half way across the room before he had even realised that he had made a decision.  He would go.  He owed it to Lewis at least, especially if his absence was causing unnecessary stress.  It would be fine, he would go, they would talk and he would do his level best to remain neutral and optimistic and then he would leave, go home and probably drink more than was sensible.  He was so focussed on getting out of the station that when Innocent called out to him as he passed the CS and Dr Hobson at the door to her office, he barely slowed to return the greeting.

It was the middle of rush hour now, and he sat impatiently, tapping the steering wheel and jiggling his foot while he waited to inch along the road.  When he arrived at the hospital it took him forever to find an empty space and then he spent even longer trying to find the entrance to the Heart Centre.  It wasn’t that he didn’t visit the hospital regularly, but more often than not it was A&E or the autopsy suite that work took him to. That thought was quickly pushed aside but he felt increasing anxious as he stood waiting for the lift.  He rocked onto the balls of his feet and buried his hands in his pockets for something to do with him.  It wasn’t until he had reached the ward, that he realised he was empty handed and that he really should have brought something.  He was just considering leaving, trying to convince himself that he would come back later, when a nurse approached him and asked if she could help.

“Lewis,” he stopped to clear his throat, “Robert Lewis.”

“Of course,” she said with a smile, “Right down at the bottom and on the left.” 

“Thanks,” he replied automatically as she bustled away. 

James tried not to listen to the various beeps and wheezes that all the monitors made as he walked down what seemed to be an unfeasibly long ward, tried not to look at the grey and flushed faces of the men and women who all looked in varying states of ill health.  And then suddenly he spotted his boss, fully dressed and sitting upright with his legs outstretched on the bed.  He stopped, taken aback at how like the Lewis of his memory he looked, as though he had fallen asleep in front of the TV on a Friday night, legs propped on the table.  Approaching slowly, not wanting to wake him, he sat down next to the bed in a plastic chair he was certain no one could describe as comfortable.  He glanced around the bedside, noting that the monitors were not attached, and that there was a pile of books, magazines and newspapers were stacked haphazardly on the bedside cabinet.  He sat stiffly for a few minutes just watching the other man breathe.  Now that he was here, he couldn’t believe that he had waited so long and he couldn’t help but be struck by the suggestion that Dr Hobson had made earlier, about how he would have felt if he had missed this opportunity to simply study the face before him now. 

He found himself mapping every last frown line and had reached the point where he was able to say that Lewis’ complexion was worse than normal but better than he had when his wife had been brought up in relation to a case.  Actually, he looked tired but that was about it, but James half wished that the inspector was still hooked up to a cardiac monitor just so that he could reassure himself that everything really was still working the way it was supposed to.  He lent back in the chair, content to study him for the time being, resolutely ignoring the little voice that had now changed its plea to tell him that he couldn’t leave, that he had to stay.  He wasn’t about to concede, but for the time being he was happy to focus solely on the man before him. 

Robbie Lewis’ first conscious thought as he woke, was that he must have drifted off to sleep, again.  It was all he seemed to do at the moment and everyone was telling him it was to be expected but he was half convinced that it was only because he was sitting around with nothing to do.  He peeled his eyes open and blinked to clear his vision, but he had seen the long figure in the seat next to his bed before he even managed to focus, and a smile tugged at his lips.  James was stretched out, almost horizontal, with his ankles crossed and his head lolling to one side.  He looked impossibly young when he was asleep and not for the first time, he felt a pang of affection for his sergeant.  It didn’t take a copper to read the signs of sleep deprivation and stress on his face and Robbie was at once relieved to see him there and felt what he knew logically was an unreasonable guilt at the frown on the younger man’s face. 

“The pair of you are as bad as each other,” Jean Innocent said quietly, as she approached the end of the bed, “is he actually asleep?”

“I think so, I woke up and he was like this.  It looks like he could use it though,” he frowned, turning to look at Hathaway again.

“He’ll be fine,” Innocent said, obviously trying to draw his attention back by placing a hand on his leg, “better now that he’s seen you.” 

“He’s so young, I worry…” Robbie floundered not sure what it was he wanted to say, “I worry about him.”  The admission came with an unusual surge of emotion but this was one of the many things he had warned about since his admission, and heaven knew he had wept like a bairn when his Lynn had arrived. 

“No more than he does you,” she replied.

“I’m old enough to look after me’self,” he said dismissively, determined to swallow around the lump in his throat.  “I’m just not sure… If something happened to me…  I’m not trying to be egotistical like, it’s just the lad doesn’t have an awful lot of…” he trailed off, unable to actually put his concerns into words.  James didn’t have any family to speak of and though he knew the lad had acquaintances, friends even, he knew from experience that he wouldn’t turn to them for help.

“Robbie,” Innocent said seriously, “no one who knows the two of you, who’s ever seen you together, would doubt how much you care about each other, and Lord knows James doesn’t play well with others but we wouldn’t just leave him to self-destruct.  Laura and I, we wouldn’t let him.” 

“An’ our Lynn would be with you if I’m any judge.  I know ye’ wouldn‘t abandon him like,” he acknowledged, not bothering to voice what both of them knew, that it might not be enough.  As though he could sense that they were talking about him, James began to stir.

“Well I’ll leave you two to sort each other out,” she said standing to go, “you know where I am if there’s anything I can do to help.” 

“Thanks Ma’am,” he replied genuinely, but she only offered him a smile as she turned and headed back out of the ward.

“Sir?” James asked, and he turned to see the young man shifting in the creaky plastic chair, valiantly trying not to look like he’d just woken up.

“Aye,” he said, smiling outright, “ye’ alright lad?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and I really would appreciate any thoughts you might have!  
> Lx


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